


Before The Flight

by Lindz (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical, M/M, Pilots, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:52:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lindz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’ll fight with the resistance, he’ll fight in the skies, and he’ll fight with every last smile he refuses to concede.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before The Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [still_intrepid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_intrepid/gifts).



"I won’t think any less of you for showing fear." Arthur says, like it’s supposed to reassure him. Feliks almost brushes off that sympathy before it dawns on him that maybe it’s not for his benefit. Both of them will be flying tonight, neither of them will risk their lives, but they will risk the lives of their fellow pilots, and having a citizen die for your sake is the greatest pain a nation knows.

So perhaps Arthur is terrified and unwilling to show it. But if he’s looking for agreement, a mutual understanding of pain; he’s not going to get it. Feliks hasn’t got much left, and he’s not about to surrender his dignity.

Is he not the nation who refused to cower before Russia ?   
  
Even when the odds are against him, even when the nation, he himself, doesn’t quite _belong_ to himself, he never gives up. A nation without it’s land, it’s people, is a soul that has been ripped from its body, and yet he fights. He’ll fight with the resistance, he’ll fight in the skies, and he’ll fight with every last smile he refuses to concede.

"There’s no time for fear. Thinking sad thoughts wears me out, and to fly I need to be ready and raring to go." Feliks gestures forward towards Arthur, almost spilling the contents of his teacup atop the coffee table between them. "If I’m tired, my reaction times will go way down, and my plane along with them."

Arthur sighs, or at least tries to show his disapproval, but the corners of his lips upturn, betraying him. “I see you’ve retained your sense of humour at least.”   
  
“Well, yeah. It’s one of those things that can’t be taken by force.” Feliks’ voice is flat, bare, and so painfully honest. He could mince his words, but he chooses not to. He and Arthur have fought together, flown together, seen brave men go down in flames together. A few bitter thoughts shouldn’t cause him too much worry. But before he gives Arthur a chance to dwell on the weight of his words, Feliks speaks again. “My jokes soothed your fears, anyway.”

Arthur, mildly offended but mostly amused and on tenterhooks to here Feliks’ reasoning, presses a stiff hand to his chest. “Tell me, when have I ever shown fear ?”   
  
Feliks is quick with his reply, delivering it with a slight grin.”Um, I saw it on your face when you told me it was O.K to be afraid, so I’d say five minutes ago, maybe ?” Arthur’s moral support may very well have been the sage wisdom of an experienced and powerful nation, but Feliks is more than willing to pretend that it was more self-assurance than anything else if it serves to lighten the mood.  
  
Humble as ever, Arthur sits up straight in his chair, his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly as if he were squinting  in the bright light of a Summer sunrise. “Oh please, the only fear I’ve ever known has been the fear in my enemies’ eyes.”  
  
“Oh sure.” Feliks nods, his voice is dripping with sarcasm that Arthur doesn’t fail to pick up on.  
  
“I’ll be sure to prove myself a brave and fearless fighter tonight in the air then.” Arthur says, almost antagonistically, as if he were challenging Feliks to a duel. Subconsciously, that very well may be what he’s doing. Arthur has always enjoyed a challenge.   
  
“I’ll make sure to watch, you know, when I’m not busy defending your airspace and the lives of everyone below us.”

Feliks says it so matter of factly that Arthur can’t help but roll his eyes and snicker, forgoing a reply. As he does, his eyes manage flicker towards the face of the grandfather clock standing in the corner of the room. “This is it then.”   
Arthur gets to his feet and begins gathering up the tablewear before him. He rests the teaspoon on the side of the saucer, but when his hands reach the cup itself, he notices that there is dribble of coffee left in the bottom. “To victory” he says, tilting the cup towards Feliks before setting it back down.  
  
Feliks quirks a brow “This isn’t much of a celebration, and I’m pretty sure toasts work better with champagne.”  
  
“Then I’ll be sure to stock up for when we win this war.” Arthur’s voice is noticeably less chipper than it had been moments ago, but his eyes say all that needs to be said. The green in them seems darker than usual, they’re not confident nor are they weak, they are simply determined.  Arthur has lived long enough to have seen most every notable conflict in recorded human history, be it from afar or from the front lines. He has felt warm blood splatter his cheek, and he has seen the evil men do. But he has never seen anything quite like this, and it has never been more important that fortune favours them.  
  
“I’ll hold you to that.” Feliks exits the room first, and Arthur is left wondering if he meant the champagne or the war.


End file.
